


To Remember is Silly

by likehandlingroses



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 02:29:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1881669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likehandlingroses/pseuds/likehandlingroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Milah's dissatisfaction with being a coward's wife is ever growing. However, she can't seem to forget the reason she married Rumplestiltskin in the first place. Will a handsome pirate be able to relieve her of her memories?</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Remember is Silly

They began each evening together, as any ordinary family would. It was easy to pretend when food lay on the table and the day’s events had yet to be discussed. But then, after the table was cleared and the conversation ran dry, the drifting began. An ongoing game of princes, fairies, and swordfights required Bae and his father’s immediate attention. A set of wooden figures, aided by some more eccentric additions (including a large spoon with drawn on eyes), soon littered the floor. And she would sit alone, pretending not to watch and trying not to care.

It would have been easier, much easier, if she could hate him. Sometimes, when he was gone or she was drunk, she did. But not always. Not when she saw how much he loved their son, how much their son loved him. Wasn’t that what she’d wanted? A man with a heart?  Everyone had thought she’d been mad to marry Rumplestiltskin, a poor coward’s son.

_“And after you wasted years turning away perfectly good men because of some silly fancy about a handsome adventurer coming to take you away! You won’t find any adventures with him, I can promise you that.”_

Perhaps not. But it hadn’t mattered then. She remembered fondly, even now, even after everything had fallen apart, their first meeting. A combination of her mother’s ill humor and her home’s poor lighting had forced her to finish her sketch outside. It was one of her more ambitious projects: a dragon flying over a misty sea, a jagged rock in the distance. She spotted him walking down the hill just as she’d settled down to draw. Unfortunately, he’d noticed her as well. Sighing, she’d pulled her picture closer and squinted as though in deep concentration. With any luck, he’d pass by without comment. She had no desire to explain, yet again, why anyone would spend time sketching ridiculous monsters.

_“Draw something pretty, why don’t you? Or better yet, do something worthwhile. Who ever heard of a grown woman who couldn’t make a proper stich or cook a meal without setting something on fire?”_

No, she’d left the house to avoid her mother’s biting remarks. She certainly wasn’t about to listen to them out here as well.

_Please keep walking please please please keep walk-_

“Are you drawing the house?”

_No, and I’m not talking to you, either._

“I didn’t mean to bother you, only I think the light’s better down over that way by that old stump. At least, it will be in a few minutes when the sun comes through those trees. Only, if you’re drawing the house…well, you couldn’t see it over there,” he finished lamely.

She had told herself she wouldn’t look up. She would ignore him completely and he would eventually go away. But when a nervous laugh escaped the man’s mouth, her head jerked up, and her eyes met his. He beamed at this simple response, and his delight was so genuine that she couldn’t help but grin back at him.

“I’m not drawing the house,” she said, and her words gave him the invitation to move closer.

“What is it, then?”

“Oh, nothing really. It’s silly.”

He stepped even closer. “I’ll bet it isn’t.”

Milah moved her drawing out of the way of his wandering eyes and grinned as his face fell in mock disappointment.

“Can’t risk it. You can’t imagine how many men I’ve chased away with these drawings. My mother’s positively furious about it.”

“Pictures that scare men away?” He sat down beside her. “I don’t believe that.”

“Oh, but it’s true. Men come down that hill almost every day, all as eager and innocent as you, and they all want to see what I’m doing. I show them and then…well, let’s just say I never see the same man twice.”

“Hmm…well, I suppose I’ll have to trade for it then.”

She frowned. “Trade?”

“If I tell you something silly, you have to show me your drawing. You see, I have something that scares women off, and I can promise you it’s much worse than anything you’ve got in that drawing.”

“And what would that be?” The small man was curious, if nothing else. Certainly none of the men she knew had ever acted this way before. She’d come to think of men as being either stern or drunk, depending on the hour, but he didn’t appear to be either. He smiled easily, his eyes lively and his hands always moving.  It was nearly childlike. She contemplated showing him the picture right then and there. She felt certain he wouldn’t laugh. Perhaps he might even understand. But the banter between them was far too enjoyable to throw away so quickly, and so she adopted what she hoped was a look of superiority and nonchalance. He only smiled wider.

“You promise, then? My secret for the picture?”

“You know, I think you have a mind to trick me. You’re going to tell me your father grows potatoes or your cat is unevenly striped. I’m not sure I trust you. I don’t even know your name.”

He leaned in closer to her, positively grinning. “But you see, that is my secret. My name.”

She snorted. “Your name’s a secret?”

“Well, do you know it?” The grin turned to a smirk.

 “I-no.”

“Then it’s a secret to you, isn’t it?”

“Well, I suppose so, but I don’t see how your name could be-”

“Rumplestiltskin.”

 “What?”

“My name. It’s Rumplestiltskin. Silly enough for you?”

He offered a hand, but, seeing that she wasn’t about to let go of her handiwork, drew it back.

“If you don’t want me to see it, it’s fine. I understand. I was only-”

She turned the sketch around and held it out, fingers still gripping the edges tightly, though she knew he wouldn’t try and take it again. She couldn’t bear to look at his face. Her cheeks were getting red, she knew it. She couldn’t feign interest in the surrounding foliage for too long. Soon she’d have to say something. Why wasn’t _he_ saying anything? Perhaps she had been wrong. He didn’t like it. He didn’t understand.

“Do you have more of these?” She turned her head back to him. His fingers loomed just over the paper’s edge, and for the first time she knew she wouldn’t mind if he touched it. He understood. She could see it in his eyes.

“I have a whole box full of them. I-I know they aren’t very good. This one especially. I’ve never done a dragon. Never even seen one, except for in a picture once when I was a girl.”

“It’s beautiful.”

No one had ever told her that before.

Sometimes she forgot. Forgot that the timid man who crept through life was the same man she’d fallen in love with. And when she forgot she’d say things. Terrible things, things she couldn’t imagine saying to anyone. It was only afterwards that she’d remember. She didn’t like to remember. It made her feel guilty, shameful. How could she hurt the first person, the only person, who had ever seen anything valuable in her?

She’d wondered, perhaps, if she could try loving him again. But that didn’t work either. He was selfish and stubborn and afraid, and he pushed her love away. He gave all his attention to their son and only the barest scraps remained for her, on the rare occasion she looked for any.

Once, she’d tried kissing him, after Bae had fallen asleep and they were both in bed. He’d jumped. Her own husband had practically leapt away from her touch. He’d made a stammering apology and tried to make amends, but it was too late. She never forgot how the man who’d been the first person to kiss her had flinched away from her in their own bed, and she never forgave either of them for it.

Killian Jones didn’t flinch. He also didn’t grab for her hand and trip over words when he was excited. He didn’t know how to nurse a sheep dog back to health. He didn’t seem at all interested in raising a seven year old boy, and she doubted he could have done it half as well as Rumple. But he did want her. That was everything.

She almost took the boy with her, almost walked out of the house with him in tow. Perhaps it would have better for everyone if she had. She had no doubt Killian would have let him onboard, and Bae would have seen the world in all its wonders, right by her side.

But then there was Rumple. Even if she thought he was a fool for crippling himself, he’d done it for the boy. He’d do anything for the child, loved him in a way he’d never loved her. It was one thing to leave him. It was quite another to take away the person he loved most. She couldn’t bring herself to do it, in the end.

Rumple had knelt down to help the boy with his boots.

“We’ll spin later, won’t we, Papa?”

“Of course we will, my boy. I’m looking forward to it.” He kissed the child’s forehead and the boy wrapped his arms around his father’s neck.  Milah felt her stomach fall.

“Rumple, I-perhaps it would be better if he stays home. You know he really wants to be here with you.”

Rumple didn’t argue, and she was out of the house in another minute. She didn’t look back. She didn’t dare, for fear that the gravity of what she was doing would catch up with her before she managed to _do_ anything.

That part came later, after her husband had been laughed off the ship. In truth, she hadn’t really expected him to coming looking for her at all. In spite of herself, she prayed he’d be sensible and leave while he still could. When Killian came strutting in after the incident, she begged him to leave her alone.

“What’s the matter, love? You said it yourself: he’s a coward. Didn’t even try and pick up the sword.”

“And what would you have done if he had?” she snapped back. “You’re certainly brave, fighting a cripple.”

“Well no one’s stopping you, if you want to go back to that hovel. But I know you,” he took her hand. “And I know that’s not what you want. You feel pity for the man, that’s to your credit. But he can’t make you happy, love. Forget him.”

Now that she was free, she found forgetting was the simplest thing in the world.


End file.
